


One for the Road

by Nutkin



Category: Disney RPF, JONAS RPF, Jonas Brothers
Genre: Banter, Brother/Brother Incest, Frottage, Grinding, Hand Jobs, Incest, M/M, Making Out, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-25 22:12:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18172112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nutkin/pseuds/Nutkin
Summary: If years of shared hotel rooms have taught Joe anything, it's that Nick can't ever get to sleep after a good show. It's probably even worse now that he's  performing solo.





	One for the Road

**Author's Note:**

> This is set on the night of Nick's first semi-solo show with the Administration, which kicked off his 2010 tour. Joe actually was in the audience wearing one of Nick's tour shirts, and Nick dedicated a song to him. Naturally, I had to commemorate that with porn. 
> 
> (I'm finally moving some of my older fics to AO3, since the reunion has created QUITE the boom of Joick nostalgia. I see y'all lurking around the JoBros porn in 2019, and I love you for it. Memories!)

The house is quiet when Joe slips out of bed and pads down the hall to Nick's room.  
  
His light's off and there's no real sound coming from the other side of the door, but if years of shared hotel rooms have taught him anything, it's that Nick can't ever get to sleep after a good show. He taps his fingers on the door lightly before turning the knob and slipping inside.  
  
Sure enough, Nick rolls over with an amused sigh.  
  
"It's, like, two in the morning," he says quietly.  
  
"Yup," Joe agrees, shutting the door with a little  _snick_  and sitting on the edge of Nick's bed. "Everyone's asleep."  
  
"Except us."  
  
Joe shrugs and grabs for his knee through the covers. Nick laughs and kicks his leg away.  
  
"I had a hunch you'd still be up, big shot."  
  
The only light in the room is from Nick's screen-saver over on the desk, so Joe can't make out much more than the vague shape of his features. When he smiles, though, Joe can see the shadows of his face move.  
  
"Can't ever sleep after a good show," he says. "It was good, right? You had fun?"  
  
Joe snorts as he flops down next to him, taking up the empty space on the right side of the bed like Nick left it there for him.  
  
"No, it totally blew chunks. That's why everyone was freaking out all night. When we carried you into the house earlier and sang 'Hail to the Chief'? That was out of pity. I think Kevin's looking into getting a day job, because this is clearly the end of our run. You—"  
  
"Got it," Nick interjects, punching him lightly in the side. "Shut up."  
  
"I don't think you grasp the gravity of the situation," Joe says, rolling to his side. He can see him better like this, nose to nose. He smashes down his pillow a little more as he settles in next to him and grins. "Bankruptcy, shame, our tragic fall from success. We're all doomed."  
  
"You should be a motivational speaker," Nick says around a yawn. "That can be your day job."  
  
"I was thinking I'd become an astronaut." He lifts his hand to push Nick's curls off his forehead, touching aimlessly at one of his eyebrows.  
  
"Oh, cool. Maybe you can find your home planet."  
  
Joe laughs lightly and drops his hand away. "You could come with me. Maybe we could turn it into a reality show.  _The Jonas Brothers in Spaaace_."  
  
"Sounds like a plan. I get to be the captain of the ship, though."  
  
"Totally. But I'm your number one officer. With the green shirt and the, um, thingy that goes doodly-doot."  
  
"A phaser? I don't think it's a good sign that all our knowledge of space travel comes from  _Star Trek_." Nick grabs for Joe's wrist and waves it a little, making Joe's hand flop back and forth. "We should probably get on that if we're gonna make a career out of it."  
  
"Yeah, I'll get a copy of  _Space Travel for Dummies_  tomorrow."  
  
Nick gives an amused huff, his eyebrows knitting. "What are we even talking about?"  
  
"I dunno," Joe laughs, twisting his hand so he can hold Nick's. "Oh, right. Day jobs. Because your show was so awesome it came full circle and sucked."  
  
"Right," Nick says, closing his fingers around Joe's. "And that's what you came in here to talk about?"  
  
"Nah." Joe tugs on his hand, rubbing his thumb over Nick's knuckles. "I wanted the super-dreamy Nick Jonas to sign my tits."  
  
Nick laughs again and pulls his hand away. "You don't have – tits," he says, his voice going low on the word like it's awkward in his mouth.  
  
"Not yet," Joe says sadly, tilting his face to study his chest. He's still wearing his Administration t-shirt, and he makes like he's cupping the air over his pecs. "I keep praying, though. One of these days I'll blossom into a real woman."  
  
"Now that might actually ruin our careers," Nick says thoughtfully. He hitches up on his elbow, his dog tags clinking gently as he studies him. "Seriously, why are you up this late?"  
  
Joe shrugs up at him. "'Cause I knew you'd be up? It was all pretty intense earlier. I thought you could use the company."  
  
Nick shakes his head a little. "You're – you know, I'm gonna have to get used to you not being here."  
  
"Shut up. Just because you're a big, bad solo artist now, that doesn't mean you get to ditch your favorite groupie."  
  
Joe can sense more than actually see Nick rolling his eyes. "You know what I'm saying."  
  
"Yeah," Joe says. "But I still think it's lame."  
  
He tugs at the front of Nick's white t-shirt, reaching under the covers so he can get his fingers beneath the hem of it. Nick hisses a little when Joe's fingers touch his warm skin.  
  
"It's going to be weird," Nick says suddenly, like a confession. "Not having you there every night."  
  
Joe wets his lips and studies Nick's face as he runs his thumb along the trail of hair just above his boxers.  
  
"It's only a month," he says, parroting the same thing Nick's been saying for days. "Not that long."  
  
"Yeah, it is." Nick lowers his face a little, until Joe can feel the flutter of his eyelashes against his forehead. "It's a really long time."  
  
"Four weeks," Joe says against Nick's chin. "Thirty days. Eight hundred hours."  
  
"You know how many hours are in a month?" Nick says, his voice going a little louder with surprise.  
  
"No," Joe snorts. "But that sounds right, doesn't it?"  
  
Nick laughs, his stomach moving under Joe's hand with the force of it. He shifts over a little and touches his hand to Joe's chest, right over the brooding profile shot of his own face. "I can't believe you're still wearing this."  
  
"Hey," Joe says, making his voice go high and breathless. "Nick Jonas personally gave me this shirt, okay? I'm, like, never taking it off again."  
  
"Uh, Nick Jonas has personally touched you plenty of times."  
  
Joe snickers and slides his fingers down to the elastic of Nick's boxers. "Yeah? You wanna personally touch me again, dude? Or do you want me to personally touch you? 'Cause I'm flexible."  
  
Nick pinches at one of his nipples through the shirt, laughing against his face. "Shut up. You're such a creep, sneaking in here in the middle of the night. I need better security."  
  
"You love it," Joe says smugly, hooking his finger under the waistband of his boxers and giving it a snap.  
  
"I hate you," Nick says flatly, tilting his head a little so his mouth brushes against Joe's and he can feel Nick's lips form the words. It would be so easy to kiss him, he thinks hazily, but they don't really do that.  
  
"You love me." He skims his fingers lower, finding the half-hard swell of Nick's dick. Nick sucks in a sharp breath as Joe shapes his hand around it, and Joe grins. "Admit it."  
  
"Maybe," Nick breathes, making a quiet noise as Joe squeezes him through the cotton.  
  
"You do," Joe says. "You love me and you're gonna miss the crap out of me."  
  
"Yeah," Nick says. Joe can tell he's biting his bottom lip, his breaths getting a little faster as he leans against Joe's hand. Joe shuts his eyes and focuses on the heavy weight of it, Nick's dick getting harder against his palm. "Yeah, I guess. But you – you're gonna come to more shows, right?"  
  
"Yeah," Joe says, tilting his face up against Nick's for more of that breath-warm friction. He eases his fingers into the front slit of Nick's boxers, closing his fist around his dick. "You know I will."  
  
Nick nods vaguely, his mouth falling open a little as Joe gives him a slow pull. "You better."  
  
Joe's knuckles slide against the blanket as he rubs his thumb up under the head of Nick's cock. It gives a sensitive twitch in his hand, like it's getting even harder.  
  
"You were awesome," he says quietly, tightening his grip for a second. "Like, crazy awesome."  
  
Nick pulls in a shuddery breath, his fingers flexing against Joe's chest. Joe can feel his mouth move in a little smile, but his voice is shaky when he says, "You don't have to – uh, talk me off."  
  
"I'm not." Joe snaps his wrist, making his strokes faster. It never gets old seeing how quickly Nick goes to pieces when he does this, his whole body seeming to throb with heat and need. Joe shifts his hips as his own dick flushes sympathetically. "You were just – really good. It was crazy to see you up there like that. I already miss it. Doing that with you."  
  
Nick moves suddenly, grabbing at Joe's arm and shifting away.  
  
"C'mere," he mutters, yanking at the blankets and Joe's shoulder at the same time. "Get in here."  
  
Joe laughs as he helps Nick pull the covers down and slides under, his knees knocking against Nick's as they settle next to each other. It's warmer like this; he can feel the heat of Nick's body rolling off him in waves, making sweat prickle over his skin. Nick tugs him even closer, one hand fumbling at Joe's hip to get his boxers down. It's kind of an awkward tangle of limbs for a second, but Joe can't bite back the pleased noise that rises in his throat when Nick finally grips his cock.  
  
"There," Nick says, his breath gusting against Joe's face.  
  
"Personally touching each other," Joe muses. "Good thinking."  
  
Their wrists bump together as their hands move, and Nick laughs softly. "I've got the best ideas."  
  
"That's what I like about you," Joe says, his breath hitching. His dick goes so hard in Nick's hand that it's a little embarrassing, the realization of how much he really loves this – and how much he's going to miss it – hitting him out of nowhere. He slides his face a little closer on the pillow, nudging one of his legs between Nick's. "There are six other reasons, but I'm saving them for a song."  
  
"Shut up," Nick says, giving his dick a hard, deep pull. It makes Joe's whole body go loose with pleasure, pinned there in hazy warmth. He tries to imagine weeks without even seeing Nick, but it's impossible to wrap his mind around when they're tucked together like this, just the two of them.  
  
When Joe opens his eyes, Nick's looking at him, his eyebrows knitted and his mouth open around soft, quick breaths. He holds Joe's gaze as he rubs his thumb up over the slit, coaxing out a dribble of precome and smearing it around the tip.  
  
Joe's toes curl against the sheet, his stomach pulling in at that merciless rub.  
  
"Nothing's gonna change," Nick says heavily. It sounds like something between a promise and a plea. "Okay? Not with us."  
  
"Nothing," Joe echoes. Nick's legs tighten around his, and he nudges his knee up a little further, wanting to touch him as much as possible. "You can't get rid of me that – easily."  
  
Nick shifts closer to him, the movement of his hand stalling as he presses them chest to chest. Joe closes the last distance, touching their foreheads together lightly. He squeezes his hand again, sliding his fist up and down slowly in the cramped space between them.  
  
"I really—" Nick swallows, the noise loud in the quiet of the room. He shakes his head and groans, rolling his hips to grind right into Joe's hand. "I just—"  
  
"Shut up, I know," Joe says, rocking against Nick's fist. They do that for a minute, rocking against each other with echoing little thrusts, until Joe adds, "You have to. You have to – go, and I want you to."  
  
"God," Nick mutters, hooking his leg around the bend of Joe's and rolling them over until Joe's halfway on top of him. "Can we just – I don't know—"  
  
Joe scrabbles his hand between them, knocking Nick's out of the way and shoving his shirt up to his chest. He's not totally sure what he's trying to do until it happens – their hips slot together just right and he grinds his dick right up against Nick's.  
  
It feels so good he just pants against Nick's face, digging his elbow into the mattress for leverage. Nick nods desperately, one hand sliding up under Joe's dumb Administration shirt and resting at the small of his back, like it's even possible to pull him in tighter.  
  
"Yeah," Nick says, arching up against him. "Like that."  
  
Joe doesn't even know how to find a rhythm for this kind of thing, but they fall into one pretty easily. He grinds his hips down against Nick's in slow little thrusts that Nick matches, making the bed creak along with them.  
  
"I'm so—" Joe starts, needing to say something, try to pin down some the craziness flying through his head, but none of it really fits into words. He digs his hand through Nick's hair, gripping it at the top where it's longest, then dragging his fingers down to touch the side of his face – the curve of an eyebrow, the jut of his cheekbone, the damp corner of his mouth.  
  
Nick's hand finds Joe's arm, gripping at it as he lifts his hips in a hard, deliberate rub. Joe can feel himself lose another little wad of precome. He knows it has to be dripping down on Nick's skin, that Nick can feel just how badly he wants this.  
  
"You don't have to," Nick breathes, turning his face against Joe's hand for a second. "I know what you're – I know. I get it."  
  
Joe nods, even though  _he_  doesn't even entirely get it. He touches his thumb to Nick's bottom lip as he thrusts a little harder, the side of his dick dragging right up along the side of Nick's.  
  
Nick parts his lips a little, letting out a slow breath that Joe can feel. He touches the tip of his thumb against the wet inside of it, a hesitant little question, and almost blows his load when Nick catches it in a clumsy kiss.  
  
"Nick," Joe gasps, his voice sharp and a little too loud. Nick just slides his hand up, gripping the back of Joe's neck as he jerks up against him again. He brushes his tongue over Joe's skin – just once, a light flicker that makes Joe's whole body twist with a fresh wave of heat. "God."  
  
He moves his thumb away, dragging a damp trail of spit down Nick's chin. They stare at each other for a second.  
  
"Do it," Nick whispers tightly, like the words are coming from behind his clenched teeth. He squeezes the nape of Joe's neck, tilting his face up a little more as he tugs Joe down closer. Joe leans into it, their faces brushing together again. He can see how wide Nick's eyes are, the way his eyebrows hitch every time Joe rocks against him. "Come on."  
  
He can't quite believe Nick is asking him for that, the idea too crazy and complicated – too real – so he just hesitates there, his whole body going hard with tension. It's one of those funny little boundaries that don't make a lot of sense, but let them feel like they have some kind of grasp on reality. Brothers don't kiss. Brothers don't talk about how insanely miserable they are about spending a few weeks not annoying each other. Brothers usually don't rub off on each other, either; they stick to the occasional adrenaline-fueled handjob and call it good. But at least there's a reason they're breaking that rule. They're just trying to get off, Joe thinks. They aren't, like—  
  
Nick lets out a frustrated groan, his fingers twisting into Joe's hair as he leans up and kisses him.  
  
It's hard and desperate, his soft mouth crushing against Joe's, working it open so he can lick against his teeth. All of Joe's senses suddenly narrow to that hot, wet connection, his eyes squeezing shut when his tongue finds Nick's. He moves against it in a hedonistic little rub, shocked at how responsive Nick is, the way he licks right back. It feels way more personal than the stuff they usually do, sweet and slick and  _deep_ , God, he can push so deep into Nick's mouth.  
  
Joe groans, rocking against him harder and almost forgetting to breathe. He can feel Nick's heart hammering against his chest, feel the way his cock throbs up against Joe's, and he knows it's all over.  
  
His teeth graze over Nick's lip as it hits him, welling up so hard and fast that he can't do anything but shoot off right there between them. Nick's fist tightens in his hair, yanking on it like encouragement as Joe's thrusts go sharp and needy.  
  
"God, yeah," Nick hisses, sliding his hand over to grip Joe's hip. He moves with him, grinding up with the same deliberate, coaxing rhythm he'd use if he were jerking him. Joe's only dimly aware that he's blowing his load all over Nick's skin, that it's catching there between them and probably getting on his shirt. He can't even think straight, just rutting against him until it's finally over.  
  
Joe slumps there for a second, dropping his forehead against Nick's shoulder, and then slides back so he can dig his hand down between them. It's slick and sticky in that tight space, his come smeared all over Nick's cock and stomach, but it makes his fist glide smoothly when he jacks him. The smell of it and the slapping sound of skin on skin hit him all at once from under the blanket, sending an aftershock of heat through his limbs.  
  
"Come on," Joe whispers, jerking him fast and deep. He's still wound up enough to want to see it happen, feel Nick lose it too. He lowers his voice, his tone soft and wheedling. "Come on, Mr. President."  
  
Nick tightens his fingers, tipping his head back as his whole body tenses. Joe presses his face to the side of Nick's neck, his own breaths hitching as Nick comes for him just like that, his cock pulsing around each messy load. Nick groans helplessly, his chest rumbling as he shapes the noise to Joe's name.  
  
He doesn't stop jerking under him for a long time, the moments dragging out as Joe mouths at Nick's throat and squeezes at his dick. Nick finally lets out a shuddering sigh and shoves Joe's shoulder.  
  
"Stop," he mutters, "I can't—"  
  
Joe lets go, shifting his weight to his elbow as he breathes there against Nick's neck. He doesn't really want to pull away yet, the potential weirdness of the situation only just settling over him.  
  
"Can't get it up again?" he teases, lifting his head slowly and moving his arm from where it's crushed between them. "This was way more fun when you were fifteen."  
  
"Shut up," Nick pants, but his frame shakes a little with a laugh. "Perv."  
  
"Yeah, like you're one to talk."  
  
Joe slides off of him with effort, slumping against Nick's side as he adjusts his boxers. Nick tugs the blanket down, careful to not let it drag through the mess on his stomach.  
  
"Ugh," he groans, lifting his head to look at it. "That's disgusting. Give me your shirt."  
  
"No way," Joe laughs, smacking the back of his hand against Nick's side. "This is a collector's item."  
  
"Yeah, well, I'm about to increase its value."  
  
Nick moves a little awkwardly as he yanks the hem of it up over Joe's head, like he's trying to avoid dripping onto his sheets. Joe flails a little, but he's too boneless to put up much of a fight. He grunts when he finally helps Nick tug it over his head, watching in the dim light as he wads up the cotton and wipes off his stomach. He makes another irritated noise, giving it a few passes before he gives up and chucks it over the side of the bed.  
  
"You suck," Joe says mildly. "That was my souvenir."  
  
"I thought the guitar pick you stole was your souvenir," Nick returns, pulling the blankets back up over him.  
  
"Who says I can't have two?"  
  
"Me," Nick says, yawning hugely and blinking at him. "It's a presidential decree, okay?"  
  
Joe laughs and grabs for the pillow under his head, hitting Nick squarely in the face with it.  
  
"How's that for a presidential decree, huh?" He grinds the pillow down and leans on it, bouncing a few times and making the mattress jiggle. "I call that move the House Majority."  
  
Nick kicks at him under the covers, rolling around to shove him off. He's pink-cheeked and laughing when he gets out from under the pillow, but he hits Joe over the head with it a few times.  
  
"Veto," he says, elbowing Joe in the side for good measure. "You can't out-maneuver the Commander-in-Chief, asshat."  
  
"Oh, I'll out-maneuver you," Joe says, just to be contrary, and ducks under the covers to blow a raspberry against Nick's stomach.  
  
It only occurs to him when he gets there that it's right where they were rubbing their dicks together. Nick's skin is still a little sticky with come, and Joe has the weird, fleeting idea that this isn't that much different than actually putting his mouth on... it. He's pretty sure that should seem way grosser than it does, but for some reason it just makes his skin feel warm.  
  
Joe hesitates for a second, but he goes ahead and blows there wetly, narrowly missing a knee to the ribs when Nick curls in on himself and dissolves into helpless laughter.  
  
"What do you call that one?" Nick says when Joe reemerges from the blankets, his cheeks a little flushed.  
  
"I don't know. The Grover Cleveland?"  
  
Nick laughs again, sounding lazy and pleased. "Weak, dude. Isn't he the one who got stuck in the White House bathtub?"  
  
"You're the geek here, you tell me," Joe says, rubbing his knuckles over Nick's hair.  
  
Nick swings a punch that he ducks, twisting away to the other side of the bed. Nick just follows him, though, sprawling over Joe's bare chest.  
  
"I'm a geek, huh?" he says. "That's, like, slander. Maybe even treason."  
  
"Freedom of speech," Joe argues, and then Nick suddenly kisses him.  
  
It catches Joe by surprise, and for a second his senses are reeling so hard he can't quite respond. Nick starts to pull back, his shoulders tensing, but Joe leans into it and touches his arm. It seems to be all the permission Nick needs; he grips the side of Joe's face and runs his tongue against his bottom lip, tracing it gently before nudging it up between them.  
  
Joe sighs against his cheek, opening up for it and skimming his tongue over Nick's. It melts into another kiss, and then another one after that, all of them light and slow. He's almost afraid to find out what would happen if he just went for it, rolled over and kissed Nick as deep and hard and long as he's itching to.  
  
Nick just looks at him for a second when it's over, and Joe swallows, trying to veer his thoughts back to that little game they were playing.  
  
"Uh. You sunk my battleship?" he tries, and Nick laughs, the sound barreling out of him like he's nervous.  
  
"That has nothing to do with the presidency," he says witheringly.  
  
"Sure it does," Joe says. "It's, like, the Navy."  
  
"It's a Milton Bradley game," Nick says, tapping his fingers against Joe's chest. They stare at each other for another moment before Nick rolls onto his back. Joe pinches at his arm.  
  
"Whatever. You win. You're a rock god, the president, captain of our future spaceship,  _and_  the supreme overlord of useless knowledge."  
  
"That's all I'm saying," Nick shrugs, and Joe can feel him grin when he leans over and kisses Nick's forehead.  
  
"Night, loser," Joe says fondly, clambering out of Nick's bed as suddenly as he dove into it.  
  
"Hey," Nick says, sitting up. Joe pauses a few feet from the bed. He can't make out much more than the pale outline of Nick's skin against the dark fabric of his bedding, but there's something hesitant about the way he says, "Things aren't, uh, weird, right?"  
  
Joe presses his lips together, thinking about all of it – Nick's mouth up against his, Nick out there on the road for weeks without him, all the shows and experiences and things they won't be doing together.  
  
"Nope," he says, almost believing it. "Nothing's gonna change with us, remember?"  
  
"Yeah," Nick says, his voice light with relief. Joe watches him slump back on the bed. "Good night, Joseph."  
  
"Good night, Nicholas," he says, mimicking his snotty tone. He's careful about opening the door, and when he turns to shut it he gets a glimpse of Nick squinting in the light from the hall, his hair all messed up and his hand raised in a little wave.  
  
When Joe collapses back in his own bed, his phone chirps on the bedside table.  
  
_Come to Nashville. I'll get you another shirt._  
  
Joe laughs up at the ceiling before texting back,  _will you sign my tits, too?_  
  
It's another moment before he gets the reply.  _Guess you'll have to come and find out._  
  
Joe taps his fingers against the edge of his phone, watching the way they cut through the glow of the screen. It's probably a bad idea, because Nick really does need to do this on his own. They both have to get used to it, figure out how to be them even when they're in different time zones for weeks.  
  
Then again, bad ideas are what Joe does best.  _i'm bringing a sharpie._  
  
Nothing happens for a minute, and Joe's about to toss his phone back on the table when it beeps again:  _Thanks._  
  
It doesn't make a lot of sense, but for some reason Joe knows exactly what he means.  
  
  
-fin.


End file.
